


Conversations on the Normandy

by goblindaughter



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Female Character of Color, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblindaughter/pseuds/goblindaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes about Ninevin Shepard and her crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations on the Normandy

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely self-indulgent fun times.

     Ninevin rushed to the kitchen and bent over the sink. The vomit came up, acidic and hot. After a moment, she felt Samara's fingers brush the sides of her neck, and the Justicar gathered her hair back. She retched until there was nothing left in her stomach, then retched some more. When it was over, she closed her eyes and leaned against the edge of the sink, panting.   
      She hadn't thrown up after killing someone since she was a damn teenager.   
      Okay, no. It wasn't the killing that made her upchuck. It was what Morinth had done to her. Just a couple seconds. Not enough for any real damage, but the monster had been _in_ her. It had felt like bugs crawling around on the inside of her, all cold and hungry and _ugh_. She wanted to peel off her skin and scrub the inside raw. Twice.  
     Ninevin straightened up and turned the sink on. Nobody would care, probably, but no way she was leaving her vomit out.   
     "Shepard?" Samara said.  
      "'s fine," Ninevin said. "Are you--I mean, you need anything?"   
      "I would like to return to the ship now," Samara said, "And...have some time to myself."   
      They went back to the Normandy. Neither of them spoke on the shuttle.

     Much later, after Ninevin had showered and was curled up on her bed with a trashy novel drawn up on her tablet, there was a ping. Somebody outside her door, paging her. She got up and opened it.  
      Samara was outside.   
      "Uh," Ninevin said, "What is it?"   
      "I was wondering," said Samara slowly, "If perhaps you would like to join me in my meditations. I know that Morinth...entered you--"   
      Ninevin winced. "Bad translation."   
      "Began the process of devouring you," Samara said. "It is not an easy thing. I thought it might benefit you to calm your mind." She talked like she was picking her words carefully.   
      "Listen," Ninevin said, "You just--ah, fuck it, Samara, you just had maybe the worst day ever, you don't need to be looking after me."   
      Samara drew back a little, and that had been the wrong thing to say, hadn't it?   
      "That is not what I meant, Shepard."  
      Oh. God, she was a dumbass. Samara was up here making this offer for a reason--she wanted company or a distraction or something. And it wasn't like scrunching up in bed, trying to ignore the creepy-crawly feeling was doing any good. Samara was on her crew, therefore or ergo or whatever, Ninevin should go help her. Assuming she hadn't just fucked it up beyond all recall.   
      "I'll come down to life support," Ninevin said. "Mind you, I've never meditated before--"   
      "It is a simple technique, Shepard." Samara wasn't smiling, but she looked slightly less--worn. Tired. A little better, anyway. Good enough for now. 


End file.
